Familiar Territory
by turbomagnus
Summary: Booth has an unusual encounter at his son's little league game and the situation the guy describes hits a little too close to home for him. Mentioned L/A, implied/pre-B/B. Mention of SMK character death.


Summary: Booth has an unusual encounter at his son's little league game and the situation the guy describes hits a little too close to home for him. Mentioned L/A, implied/pre-B/B. Mention of SMK character death.

Disclaimer: "Bones" and "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" are the respective properties of their owners and creators and are used for entertainment purposes without permission or intent to profit. Features references to my earlier SMK story "Family Tradition".

-o0O0o-

"Familiar Territory"  
By; J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0o-

"It's like I said; 'the more things change, the more they stay the same'."  
\- Quark, 'Star Trek: Deep Space Nine', "What You Leave Behind"

-o0O0o-

The Seventh Inning Stretch was as much an American Tradition as baseball itself, along with hot dogs, team rivalries and fighting over home run balls. For Little League games, it also doubled as the best time for those present and watching to inform those absent of the current status of their favorite players - their children.

FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth could barely believe what the person on the other end of the phone call had said, "You actually timed the game so you'd know when to call?"

"The average length of an inning is a known amount of time, Booth. I merely had to multiply it by the appropriate number of innings to get the amount of time necessary to add to the scheduled starting time so that I could call, I did not 'time the game'," Doctor Temperance Brennan, frequently and unwantedly called 'Bones' by Booth, replied over the phone. "You've failed to answer my query, however; how are Parker and his team performing?"

Booth's expression shifted smoothly from disbelief at his partner's timing to pride in his son, "They're up by four runs and Parks hasn't missed a swing yet."

"I assume that means the situation is positive?"

"You can assume that the only things that can be better are the Dogs winning and Parker hitting the winning run for them," Booth chuckled lightly. "If that last one happens, you'll know since you'll probably be able to hear me cheering all the way to the lab."

"I don't believe that's... oh, hyperbole," Brennan realised.

"Not really," Booth replied. "Parker will probably want to come see you before I take him home and I'll probably still be cheering whenever we get there."

"I'm going to preemptively conclude that is also meant to be an exaggeration and forego any observations regarding straining your vocal cords," Brennan remarked.

"It's amazing how you can say I must be joking and make it sound like I have to go to bed with no dessert," Booth sighed, causing the person occupying the bleachers next to him to give a faint cough that was the universal sign for trying to cover up a chuckle or a laugh.

"I've never understood the concept of ingesting sugar at a point in time where it would run counter to the concept of relaxing and preparing for a night's sleep," Brennan observed.

"That's because you refuse to try pie since it's 'cooked fruit'," Booth retorted. "If you did, maybe you'd understand. Hey, the Stretch is almost over and the game's about to start back up."

"Then I'll allow you to return your focus to Parker's athletics," Brennan answered.

"And you can get back to your bodies," Booth commented and, as she started into a lecture about the technical differences between bodies and remains, pressed the end call button on his phone. Then he muttered, "I'm going to pay for that later, I just know it..."

This time, the guy next to him didn't bother trying to hide that he was chuckling. It made Booth feel a little self-conscious and more than a little suspicious at how much attention the other man had paid to his conversation. Almost unconsciously, parts of the FBI agent's brain began noting potential cover objects, escape routes and civilian locations that might be in lines of fire; all without him even realising he was even doing it.

It also seemed that the guy had reached his own conclusions in regards to the phone call, as he unabashedly asked, "So, how long have you been married?"

"We're not married, she's my partner," Booth answered out of habit, used to people making that assumption, before his eyes narrowed slightly at even being asked the question.

The other man gave a rather arrogant and knowing smirk, "Oh, just 'living in sin' then."

Truthfully, Booth was starting to get tired of people making those sort of assumptions, "Not like that, she's my _work_ partner."

"Oh, what kind of work do you do?"

That question kicked Booth's suspicion levels into his conscious brain and he almost snapped off his response, "I don't think that matters."

The smirk turned into an actual grin, "Then you're obviously not in certain lines of work."

"I don't know what that means," Booth said automatically before groaning when he realised that he had just used his partner's almost-trademark phrase.

"Then there's some lines of work that you're definitely not in," the other man chuckled at his own joke.

This guy was starting to piss him off, Booth decided, "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

The other man drew in a breath as though about to speak, but let it out with a slow sigh and shook his head, "If I have to explain it to you, you're not ready to understand what I mean just yet. Or you already know and you just don't want to."

It was one thing for the Squints to talk down to him involving scientific things that he didn't really care about the details besides if something helped their case or not, listening to this guy butt into something that was none of his business and make cryptic comments was something else entirely. Now that he'd attracted Booth's attention and the agent thought about it, the guy had shown some support for one of the teams, but had never actually cheered any particular player or shown more than appreciative enthusiasm for the whole game so far.

With feigned casualness, Booth asked, "So, which one's yours?"

"None of them," the other man answered with a sigh.

Booth looked at him with suspicion, ready to go for his gun depending on what the man said next.

"When they were younger, my stepsons both played for the Bombers, so I still like to attend games and support the team. Now, though," He continued, seemingly without paying any attention to Booth's change in attitude, though his face took a downward cast as he did, "Jamie... Jim's a federal agent, and Phillip... Phillip died in the Middle East last year."

The FBI agent relaxed, if only slightly, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the other man answered, "You know, it's strange. I've seen grown men, trained soldiers break down when they think they're going to die... but Phillip, he... he just sat there and he knew what they were about to do... They expected him to beg for his life, to plead... and all he did was look into their camera and say that he was signing off for the last time..."

It took Booth only a few seconds to put everything together properly, "The reporter that terrorists beheaded last year - Phil King - that was your stepson?"

"Legally, yes," the man replied with a sad shake of his head, "But... when you've been there for most of their lives, watched them grow from boys up to men; you don't really think of them as your stepsons, just your sons."

Booth sighed at the depressing thought that brought up and, when the other man looked over, nodded towards the field, "At least you got to be there for them. ...I'm not even sure the best way to phrase this; my son's mother and I were never married and she has custody, so I get every other weekend - when work doesn't interfere - and occasionally a week or sometimes two if she has to go off somewhere and can't take him with her. I love Parker, but I never get to see him a fraction of what I'd like."

The other man thought for a moment, "So, why did your _work_ partner call to see how the game was going, then? I'm assuming she's not the mother, here."

"No, she's not," Booth answered, annoyed at the thought of Bones treating anyone like Rebecca treated him and by extension Parker, something that anyone who knew the scientist would know was so unlike her it was impossible. "She's his tutor and runs an after-school club that he's part of."

"Good with kids, huh?"

That, however, was almost amusing; "Not if you ask her."

It was true; Bones' own childhood as an outcast had left her convinced that she didn't know how to interact with children, but the truth was that most kids loved her because she didn't talk down to them or try to sugar-coat anything. She treated them the same way she treated everyone else and, for kids used to being treated different just because they were kids, that was usually a great thing. It was another one of the things that made him want to punch Max Keenan at times for the way he and Christine had abandoned their children, leaving Bones to blame herself and have difficulty getting close to people because she was secretly afraid that they might leave as well. Even worse, leaving her to believe that she'd never make a good parent because she 'obviously' had to have made a poor daughter for them to leave like they did, no matter how many children they encountered during cases liked her and should have proved otherwise; no matter how close Parker became to...

'Woah, Seeley, let's not go there,' the Agent chided his runaway mind sharply; he didn't need to start thinking 'happy family' thoughts with his partner and son. For one thing, if he and Bones did get into a relationship and the Bureau found out, it would be new liason with the Jeffersonian and no more partners, something he was sure neither of them would want.

The other man made a non-committal sound, "Might interest you to know... Phillip and Jim? Their mother and I worked together; actually we were partners for several years before we were married."

That got Booth's attention, "Oh, Metro PD?"

"Federal Agents," the man corrected with a faint but noticeable look of amusement.

Booth extended a hand; "Seeley Booth, Special Agent, FBI."

"Lee," the other man shook Booth's hand. "And unfortunately I can't say where."

"Ah, one of the 'men upon the stair'," Booth commented knowingly, referring to an old rhyme he'd heard once.

Lee chuckled faintly, "I can neither confirm nor deny."

"Well, that proves you're not. I don't think that bunch is allowed to have a sense of humor," Booth remarked.

That caused a louder chuckle from Lee, "You know, Amanda used to comment on a lack of humor too. I don't think she ever agreed with how seriously everything was taken. There was always a sense that she thought everyone was going to burn themselves out if they didn't take more care. But, in the end, we made the best team; heart and mind."

Booth almost felt his neck snap as his head turned to look at the older man, "What?"

"Heart and Mind; it's what our boss called us one time, because I usually thought things through and Amanda just went on instinct... surprisingly good instinct for a former-housewife with no previous training, actually."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Booth tried to ignore the fact that he had heard something similar before, only much closer to home. That was when the Umpire announced an end to the Stretch and play resumed.

-o0o-

An hour and two innings later, two teams left the field; one dejected but standing proud at making the other team have to fight for what they'd gotten, the other team tired but exuberant in their victory. It was to Booth's own pride that his son's team was the 'other team', the victors. He didn't think of himself as one of those 'parent-zillas' that you saw on television, the ones who bullied their kids into sports to relive their own glory days and made embarrassing spectacles of how the winner was their kid when they won or became verbally - and sometimes physically - abusive when they lost; but there was still a reasonable amount of satisfaction when their kid's team won an event that a parent could feel, and Booth did feel, before crossing that line. It was a line that Booth never wanted to find himself crossing, if he was honest with himself, because crossing it would mean he would be headed towards becoming like his own father and that was someone he never wanted to become. He was proud of his son and he wanted to be the kind of father that Parker could have his own pride in having.

"Dad! Dad! Did you see us? Did you see how we won the game?" The younger Booth called out, demonstrating a seeming ability to breathe through his ears since he wasn't pausing long enough between words to take a breath otherwise, as he ran towards his father.

"Not just that, Parker, I also saw you in part of a nice double," Booth answered, giving his son a quick hug before taking his equipment from him.

"From the celebratory atmosphere, I take it that it would be fair to presume a victory for Parker's team?" a familiar voice spoke up, drawing the attention of the Booth boys and leading them to turn around to encounter the presence of a figure they hadn't been expecting to see.

"Doctor Bones!" Parker turned himself into a human Forensic Anthropologist-seeking missile and launched directly for Brennan, wrapping his arms happily around her waist in a hug that the scientist returned as best as she could.

"Bones," Booth said her name with less overt excitement, but more noticeable surprise. "I thought you had a body to work on."

For once refusing to 'rise to the bait', as she believed the term was, Brennan answered, "I believe that, while outside my normal habits, it is perfectly acceptable for one to leave work early to attend a celebration luncheon or dinner."

"You mean like going somewhere because we won the game, Doctor Bones?" Parker asked excitedly, letting go and taking a step back so that he could look up at her.

"I can't believe he understood that," Booth muttered mostly to himself, "He's going to end up a squint, I just know it..."

"Dad!" came Parker's annoyed exclamation at the same time as Brennan's long-suffering, "Booth..."

Booth stared at his partner and his son silently for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open, before he could manage to form the words to reply, "It's things like that which give Angela ammunition for her whole 'secret son' theory..."

"Dad," Parker rolled his eyes - another habit that the senior Booth could blame his partner for - and pointed out the to him obvious, "Everyone knows I'm your son, that's not a secret!"

"That's not the secret she has a theory about, bud," Booth reached out and ruffled his son's hair. "It's not even really a secret, just a wild idea she has that she won't let go. So, since Bones is joining us, where are we going to eat?"

"I want Syd's fries! And apple pie!" Parker exclaimed.

Brennan looked thoughtful for a moment before giving a sharp, decisive nod, "I also find the idea of the diner agreeable, Booth."

"The diner is it." Booth looked at Brennan with a slight frown, "How did you get here, anyway, Bones?"

He wasn't expecting the faint flush to her cheeks before she answered, "I may have made the assumption that you could drive me back to the lab and hired a cab for the trip here."

"Doctor Bones is riding in the back with me," Parker interjected happily.

"Bud, maybe 'Doctor Bones' doesn't want-"

"I'll be glad to ride with you, Parker," Brennan interrupted her partner, more than happy to spend the time with a young and inquisitive mind like his son. "Would you happen to know where your father parked?"

Always glad to help 'Doctor Bones' with anything, and since his dad had already taken his equipment from him, Parker grabbed her hand and started half-pulling, half-leading her out into the parking lot. With a faint sigh mixed of exasperation and affection, directed towards both of them, Booth followed at a slightly less enthusiastic pace. Still sitting in the bleachers, the other man whom Booth had watched the game with stared after the makeshift family for a moment before pulling out his cell-phone and pressing a button.

When the intended recipient of the call picked up on the other end of the line, he started without much preamble, "Cullen, it's Stetson, remember that favor you owe me?"

After hearing the response on the other end of the call, Lee Stetson, Director of The Agency, ran a hand through greying hair, "Would you quit crying? I haven't even asked it yet."

And he had thought his wife being one of his Section Leaders and Jamie an agent was going to be the hard part of becoming the Director, but no, he had to get it into his head to play 'Cupid meets the Fairy Godmother' instead of sticking to being the Scarecrow...


End file.
